the yoga dichotomy

on one side of the LKTC, we have my oh-so-grown up dinner (ps-have I mentioned lately how much I love my overly magnetic apartment? well, I really do)

and on the other, we have all the makings of blueberry buttermilk pound cake

is this not the cutest little bundt pan you've ever seen? no? well it's the cutest one i've ever seen 

Today is the third time I've made it to Pentagon yoga, meaning I currently have perfect attendance since I first started going again after a one year hiatus.  I realized that yoga class tends to inspire some pretty dichotomous thoughts, and subsequently actions.

There are moments in yoga where you feel like the world's most powerful person.  When you're in the middle of bird of paradise (go ahead, google it, I'll be here when you get back), it can be really energizing.  

Then there are moments in yoga where you feel like you can just check out when it's convenient.  Most yoga classes begin with the reminder that you can return to child's pose (go ahead, google this one, too) at any time the practice becomes "more than you want it to" that day. I don't know about you, but I rarely need an invitation to take it easy in the gym (yeah, I warned you all a long time ago that I was lazy).  

You can quickly go from twisting yourself into a pretzel to just laying on the mat while the rest of the class goes from plank to downward dog and back a million times.  

Tonight's yoga class was low intensity, but very balance-focused, which can demand a good deal of concentration (something I've long struggled with in yoga). I initially left feeling all world-conquer-y.  Or at least kitchen conquer-y.  I had grand plans of walking home from the metro station further from my apartment to allow for a stop at Safeway, and thus an ambitious dinner involving the chicken I remembered to set in the fridge to defrost pre-work this morning.  

Then I got to the Pentagon metro and realized I had to wait 15 minutes for a train. This would typically incite a frustrated, antsy response, but tonight all I could muster was a halfhearted complaint to Allie via BBM.  I attribute this in part to my Nook (seriously, love that thing), as it allowed me to re-immerse myself in my latest purchase, The Fourth Star.  (I felt like I needed something with a little more weight after devouring The Help.  Must say, not totally loving it, but, they're at the part where all four generals are in/involved in Iraq so I currently can't put it down).  Reading always makes me sleepy, and the lingering stress from starting my new job snuck up on me and joined forces with the sleepiness. 

Suddenly I was on the opposite end of the yoga dichotomy and indulging the "you can quit any time your body tells you to" part.  (I should have known it was coming.  I totally bowed out of 3 separate instances of camel pose because I just wasn't in the mood).  By the time I made it home, I had no desire to so much as touch that raw chicken, but I did want to bake.

So I scarfed down a bowl of cheerios (see above) while talking to Mom about the family's impending visit (hence the blackberry's prominent position in the baking line up above), setting up the LKTC for some light baking, and taking pictures.  Check out that multitasking skill.  (Obviously the world conquer-y endorphins were still making one last stand)

I had both buttermilk and blueberries that were nearing the end of their short life spans, so I decided to make this cake that I've baked with great success before (with blueberries in place of raspberries, as I hate raspberries).  A cop out, I know, but, I was only feeling so inspired.  It turned out to be a bit of a mess, with a fine layer of creamed butter/sugar on my work out clothes (ironic, yes), but there were no major disasters, and by the smell of things, it came out deliciously. I won't be cutting in to it until the family arrives this weekend.  Stay tuned. 

Now in keeping with the freewheeling side of the yoga dichotomy, I'm going to ignore the dishes and go read in bed.  Genuine wild woman right here.